Being a part of the press has presented many obstacles surmount, and at times the daily humdrum makes for a dull Cindi. But what I experienced Saturday brought back memories of the metal festivals of my yesteryear.

My mind was flooded with life experiences as I was rocking (literally) on the Arkansas River bridge waiting in a long line of cars to be admitted into Edgefest. As myself and fellow "Edgeheads" waited suspended over the swollen Arkansas River, I watched as the brown swirling waters carried logs and other debris to wherever such things go.

I wondered if my life might actually be in danger when announcements came over the radio warning us to remain calm and stay in our cars. The announcer said there was a severe storm coming, large hail, driving rain and they weren't opening the gates to let us in because of the storm.

As the bridge bounced with the weight of traffic in the open lanes, I was actually scared. The fear a really rocking song would come on the radio causing fans to get excited and bounce the bridge even more kept me on heightened alert.

I started saying my prayers and texting good-byes to everyone I loved. How appropriate that would be - I thought to myself - if metal heads of the past and present all went down in rock festival history by a major bridge disaster.

I decided to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Stripping off my rubber rain boots and rolling the windows down, I got myself ready to swim, hoping I wouldn't be caught in an undertow or possibly pinned under another vehicle when the bridge collapsed (melodramatic I know, but I am seriously terrified of bridges). I got myself ready for the plunge.

The announcer came back on the radio to say severe lightening was on the way. Great, I have already prepared for one disaster and now to prepare for the infinitely more possible "death by lightning" scenario, I would have to once again make a decision. I grabbed my trusty rubber boots (so I could be grounded), yanked them back on, and closed the windows all the while listening to the whining of my fellow riders.

What to do, but wait?

After what seemed a lifetime - three hours stuck in mortifying conditions is taxing - I decided to abandon my ride and walk. I walked approximately a mile-and-a-half, maybe more, lugging myself and my camera equipment through the mud to enter utter chaos. Members of Wasting Days, the local band I came to cover, had kept in contact with me throughout my ordeal to let me know they had already played and so had two other bands.

The whole purpose in me going had already passed me by, so I was left to enjoy what remained. Loud music and mud.

Mud peaking out from the top of my rain boots, people slinging mud, rolling in the mud, loosing shoes in the mud. Mud everywhere.

Still, I can count Edgefest 2009 as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I endured the storm, missed most of the show, got a good workout, met up with some old friends, made some new muddy friends and discovered rock n' roll again.